


I Take Mine with Lemon

by torino10154



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Cunnilingus, F/M, Het, Infidelity, Kitchen Sex, Situational Humiliation, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23909821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torino10154/pseuds/torino10154
Summary: Written as a belated birthday gift for  who requested the pairing. Hope you enjoy it, hon!
Relationships: Petunia Evans Dursley/Severus Snape, Petunia Evans Dursley/Vernon Dursley
Comments: 16
Kudos: 49





	I Take Mine with Lemon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [accioslash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/accioslash/gifts).



> Written as a belated birthday gift for who requested the pairing. Hope you enjoy it, hon!

Petunia cleans her kitchen every morning. Who knows what mischief that dirty little boy has got up to when he should simply be making breakfast for Vernon and Dudley.

She makes one of Dudley's favourites every night. Berry trifle, Victoria sponge, even Pavlova. He's still a growing boy. Hale and healthy and twice the size as her runt of a nephew.

Several times a year Vernon has to go into the city. He grumbles about it. The traffic, the noise, the _undesirables_.

Petunia pats him on the thigh and tells him he'll get a big contract for Grunnings just like the last time. That's how he became the director of the company, after all.

Vernon drives off and Petunia walks Dudley to school, the other one straggling along behind them.

On the way home, her eyes scan the pavement, the manicured shrubbery, the overgrown hedges—she will talk to Mrs Figg about that the next time she comes looking for one of her mangy cats—but she sees nothing out of place. 

No sign of _him_.

Petunia does her best to put him out of her mind but she knows he only comes around when Vernon is away. Not every time, thank goodness. She's decidedly not anticipating his visit. 

He's repulsive, dirty, _magic_.

She breathes a sigh of relief as she lets herself into the house and locks the door behind her. She hangs her coat on the coat rack and makes her way to the kitchen as nice cup of tea sounds like just the thing to take her mind off people and places she'd rather not think about.

Piercing black eyes. Long, thin fingers. A wicked tongue.

Heart beginning to pound, she puts the kettle on and searches the cupboard for the Earl Grey. She doesn't know why she keeps it as it reminds her of her parents, of Lily, of Cokeworth, of him.

The kettle whistles and she turns, dropping the teapot as she screams, shocked at the sight of her unwanted guest standing darkly in her pristine white kitchen.

"Now, now, Tuney, that's no way to welcome me into your home," Snape says, flicking his wand—she flinched at the motion—at the teapot. It leaps into the air and reassembles itself in front of her eyes before landing lightly on the counter. "I take mine with lemon, I'm sure you recall." 

He moves closer, crowding her against the counter. There's roaring in her ears and her hands begin to tremble as he runs the back of his hand down the column of her neck. "I must admit what I had in mind is far sweeter than tea."

She licks her dry lips, hating herself for how she feels. Giddy anticipation rivals revulsion. If only Vernon knew how to—

"Don't think of that oaf now," Snape says softly, looking deeply into her eyes. "He's unable to pleasure you as I can."

He slides his hands under the hem of her skirt, lifting it to her waist and tracing his fingers over the soft fabric of her knickers.

"Tell me, Petunia, are you wet for me?" he says, tugging her knickers down slowly. 

She wants to say no, never, not for him, but she watches as he buries his face in her dark blond curls, the tip of his tongue seeking the one spot Vernon can never seem to find.

"Yes," she whispers. "Please."

She feels his warm breath against her thigh, his cool fingers spreading her open, and then he licks, laps, sucks, and teases until her legs are trembling and she thinks her heart is going to explode out of her chest.

She tries to push his head away—she can't stand the pleasure for another moment more. She feels like she might die of it. 

Dizzy and faint, she cries out, and he catches her before she falls. Before she knows what's happening, he's turned her around and is bending her over. His fingers grip her hips as he sinks inside her in a single thrust.

This is the part she tells herself she hates. The humiliation of being taken from behind like a dog, clinging to the counter edge to steady herself as he thrusts. The way he uses her for his own pleasure, grunting and growling, the wet sound of him sliding in and out of her.

She feels so dirty. 

She hates that he makes her come again.

She hates that she loves it.

He slips from her when he's done and she feels a tingle of what must be magic cleaning the evidence of their coupling from her body.

His hand caresses her bare bottom, fingers teasingly close to her entrance. She can't help but wriggle toward them and he chuckles. 

"Next time, Tuney." He presses a kiss to the back of her neck. "Next time."

She doesn't hear a sound but all the warmth has left the room and she knows he's gone. She feels like a fool with her knickers around her ankles and skirt around her waist.

She squeezes her eyes shut and fixes her clothes, smoothing the wrinkles from her skirt before pouring herself a cup of tea, pleased her hand is steady enough not to spill a drop.

She cuts a slice of lemon and adds it to her cup, then pushes the Earl Grey back into the corner of the cupboard. 

Until next time.


End file.
